


Aftermath

by edibleflowers



Series: Only God Knows Why [8]
Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:24:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris helps Justin deal with the day after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> The morning after the events of Parallel.

"Hear someone got lucky," Chris murmurs late the next morning. You're on the road again, though you're not sure where you're headed, but you slept a long time and only woke up when Chris climbed halfway into your bunk and started tickling you because he wanted a companion for breakfast.

You look up from your bowl of Oreo-Os, smiling. "Sort of, I guess. Brit and I broke up," you say, and look back down because you don't want to see Chris's reaction, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

"You what?" Chris says, in a low, astonished voice. You look back up, see his eyes wide and black, snapping. "What the fuck, Justin--"

You can't help but sigh, because you knew this would be exactly how he'd take it. "She called me a fucking fag, Chris," you say, sliding a hand through your tangled, runaway hair. "She's known about the stuff we do forever, but suddenly she had to be all nasty about it, and so she told me that if I was going to keep sleeping with y'all, that we were over. So, you know. What the hell was I supposed to do?"

Chris regards you with serious eyes for a long moment. "I'm sorry," he says finally, his voice soft.

You don't know what to say to that; you shrug instead. "It's probably for the best," you say. "I mean. I'm upset, but. I think she was cheating on me, so, you know--" Chris flinches, confirming your suspicion; he'd known about that, just like he always knows about everything, but you can't even hate him right now. You're just too tired. "I'm, I'll be okay."

"You know what she's going to do?"

"Not really. Don't care, either." That's not entirely true, because you know there's going to have to be some kind of official statement, or some notification -- "Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears no longer an item" will probably run on every celebrity gossip page across the country for a week, and you know you're going to have to answer questions from interviewers, fans, everyone, up to and including your mom, about it. But right now you're just too tired to really give a rat's ass.

JC stumbles out of the bunk area, his hair flat on one side, and fumbles past you, reaching into the fridge for his gross wheatgerm juice. He drinks it from the container, but neither you or Chris bother to complain because you wouldn't drink the stuff if you were paid to. After he puts the juice back, he scratches his head and looks at the two of you. "Morning," he mumbles.

"Afternoon, sleeping beauty," Chris smiles, bright and cheerful. He turns back to look at you, an eyebrow raised, and you know your interrogation has merely been delayed.

Still, it's nice to go back to the bunks and climb in next to another warm sleeping body. Kris curls into your embrace, loose-limbed and sweet, smacking her lips and pressing an absent kiss to your cheek.

"Hey," she murmurs.

"Go back to sleep," you tell her, and she does, and you follow her.

* * *

Later, when you get to the hotel and hook up the Playstation, Chris joins you in your room. The others are busy with various things, which is nice, but also kind of sucks because you know you can't avoid Chris now. You try to figure out why you're avoiding him and can't really discern the reason.

He worms the rest of the story out of you, how Kris was witness to the breakup via cellphone, and how she comforted you afterwards. You don't think it was a mercy fuck, because she stayed and fell asleep, and followed you sleepily to the buses when you had to wake up way too early in the morning to get going.

"You two are cool?" Chris asks, then, his gaze focused on the television screen and not you.

"We're cool, yeah," you say. You smile when you remember how soft her touch was, and how she'd looked at you like you'd always hoped she would one day. You can't even remember how long you'd been wanting her, but you were always jealous of Joey and JC, and later Chris, because she would look at them with that wanting, needy gaze, but never at you. It wasn't like she'd avoided you, or hated you; she was always friendly, but in a, well, friend way.

And then there was the night where Joey got you both in the same bed, and it was like heaven on fucking earth. You didn't think you'd ever be so happy, until last night.

You think you should be upset; after all, you did just break up with your girlfriend of eighteen months last night. But you're not even thinking about Britney right now. You just can't wait until Kristen gets back from shopping with Lance and JC, because you want to pin her down to the bed and kiss her from head to toe, and especially the places in between.

"Don't get in over your head," Chris suddenly says, and you can't tell whether he's referring to the game or other things. You drag your attention back to the game and try to ignore his advice.

* * *

But when the others get back from shopping, Kris shows off some of the new clothes she's bought, then collapses into Joey's lap, wrapping her arms fondly around his waist, while Chris sashays around with one of her new shirts held up to his chest, pretending to be a supermodel. You can't help but eye Kris and Joey jealously, even though Kris gives you a tender smile, and after a while you get up and go out of the room.

There's nowhere else to go, though, really; you have the night off, a performance tomorrow, but going out right now would involve a huge production of assembling security and so forth, and you just can't bring yourself to be bothered. You sit in your room instead, stare at your cellphone, consider calling Britney and ask her how she's doing. Instead, you call your mom and tell her that the two of you have broken up.

Your mom is sympathetic, asking you several times if you're all right, if you need anything, if you want her to fly out. She's got business stuff to take care of, though, so you tell her you're okay and that you think it's for the best. You hardly ever saw Britney when you were together, anyway, so it's not like you have a physical presence to miss.

After you hang up with your mom, you roll over on your bed and wonder if Kris and Joey are fucking. If you listen hard, you think you can hear the sound of something happening in the next room, but you can't be sure. You wonder why the hell you thought there would be some sort of special feeling on her part after last night, and you hate yourself even more for thinking there was.

After a while, Chris lets himself into the room. You're curled up on the bed, just laying there staring at the curtains that hang heavy over the window, suppressing the late afternoon sunlight. "Jup?" Chris says. You ignore him. Maybe he'll think you're asleep and go away.

He sits down on the bed, running a hand over your back. "Justin," he says. "They're talking about going out and seeing a movie. You want?"

You shake your head. "No, thanks."

"Hey, tell you what. I'll order us some room service and we can watch some TV. How's that sound?"

"Whatever." You don't have the energy to argue. You'd think that sleeping on the bus for half the day would have you energized, but travel is always draining, and you've given up trying to fight it. Chris doesn't seem to mind your tone of voice; he just gets up, calls room service, orders what sounds like ten times as much as you normally eat, and then goes rummaging in your bag for videos.

He doesn't force you to eat, but he does bring you a glass of milk and a plate with food, and you smile at him, because not smiling would be rude. You pay some attention to the movie, but you don't really care too much about them; he's got some old black & white thing on, not yours: it must have been mixed up in your bag, because it looks like a crappy Ed Wood movie that would only belong to Chris. You watch him, instead, the way his head bobs, the way his throat moves when he swallows. After a while, Chris crawls back onto the bed and unselfconsciously puts his arms around you, and you watch television like that for a while, curled up to each other.

When the movie ends, Chris reaches over you for the remote control and stabs at the stop button. The television's suddenly loud, and he starts pushing at buttons to lower the volume. You look at the line of his neck, textured skin, taut cords, and suddenly you want to lick it, so you do.

Chris jerks back and looks at you, and you try to remember if the two of you have ever actually done anything together. There have been a few nights -- okay, more than a few -- where everyone woke up in a pile of sprawled limbs, and you were foggy on who did what to whom; your memories of those nights are little more than a pleasurable blur. But you and he have never actually screwed around, to the best of your recollection, and now you think you want to rectify that situation.

"I don't know if this is a good idea, Justin," Chris tells you as he finally manages to turn the television off.

"Sure it is," you reply, putting your hand on his cheek. His cheek is stubbly with a few hours' growth of whiskers, and you like the rasp of it under your fingers. "You wanted to cheer me up, right?"

"Yeah, but this is how Kristin cheered you up last night."

You sigh, closing your eyes. He would have to mention her. "Yeah. I know," you say.

"Sex isn't the answer to everything, Justin."

"Well, why the fuck not?" you demand, and now you want to cry, and you hate that feeling. You push it away, turning your head to stare at the wall instead.

"Because you're getting all these feelings wrapped up in it. Did you think that you and Kris were going to be exclusive after last night?"

"No, I--" But you scowl, because part of you had kind of hoped that. You remember how you'd really wanted to go down on her this afternoon, sure that she'd be free for you, but you know perfectly well that that isn't how things work. "Fuck," you mutter. "Just. Fuck. I'm sorry, Chris. Why don't you, uh. I think I should be alone right now."

Chris settles down beside you again, putting his arms around you. For someone who ought to have been on Ritalin from the age of eight, he can be eerily quiet and serious when he wants to be. "I want you to be happy, Justin. If I thought it was what you needed, I'd go over, get Kris, bring her back here."

"I remember the one time you tried to talk her into sleeping with me," you say softly, and he barks a chuckle.

"Yeah, that. She goes where she wants to, Jup. She wanted to be with you last night, and that was great. But today she wanted to hang out with Joey. So you gonna be cool with that?"

You find that it doesn't sting as much, now, when you pull up the image of her on Joey's lap. "I will be," you say.

Chris runs a hand through your hair, fingertips scratching against your scalp; his touch is invigorating, and you close your eyes, leaning into it. "Do you think you and I can have sex without a lot of weird feelings coming up?"

"I think so," you murmur, and you're telling the truth as far as you can see it. You used to hero-worship Chris, for a long time, and now that's faded somewhat; you respect him as a friend, now, as an equal, and you think you can do this without jealousy and all that crap getting thrown into the mix.

"Good," he says, his eyes watchful and intent, burning bronze. Then he leans down and kisses you.

He tastes much like you always thought he would, a little spicy, a little like the lemony chicken he ordered from room service. His tongue is quick and hot in your mouth, making you groan, little animal-sounding whimpers deep in your throat, similar ones in his when you press your knuckles up under his shirt.

When he sits up to take his shirt off, you just want to watch him. He's not lean or toned - not muscular, really, except as needed for the show - but he won't run to fat, either, when this is all over. He's simply compact, ten volts of energy in a five-volt package, and when he leans over to kiss you again his skin is hot, electric to the touch. You like tangling your fingers in his hair; it seems strangely familiar, and you think that there might have been kisses like this in one of those hazy drunk nights.

It doesn't really matter, though; as far as you're concerned, this is the first time that matters. You push him over, straddling his hips, feeling with pleasure the hot dick aligned to yours. You remember how you wanted to lick Kristin all over, and you grin as you think that it's a different Chris, but you still want to lick this one. So you do, and it's good, because Chris giggles insanely when you run your tongue over his ribs, and up the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, and then he just makes strangled noises when you go down on him.

He pushes you away before you can finish, which is a little disappointing because you really wanted to taste him when he came; you wanted to be able to bring him to orgasm. He gets up, mumbling something about condoms, and you point at your little travel bag on the dresser, the one where you keep deoderant and razor and such things. Chris comes back to the bed, dropping foil packets and the lubrication on the nightstand, and kneels over you to unbutton your shirt, your pants. His fingers are quick and deft, his tongue hot, licking down your skin, and you think you might die when he closes his mouth briefly over the tip of your dick.

"'Sfucking -- Chris -- Jesus!" you gasp, and after a moment he laughs and lets go. His eyes are full of the humor that you love about him as he climbs up over you, having pushed you to your back, and straddles your thighs; your cock bobs against his, making you both shiver. He tears open a condom, stretches it, rolls it teasingly down over your painfully stiff penis, and you can't help but let out a whimper, because you know that you're going to be inside Chris, fucking him, and the anticipation is almost too much to take. He reaches for your hand, then, and pours a dollop of lube onto it.

This you know. You work the lube over your fingers, and as he moves up, you slide your hand between his thighs, finding the soft skin behind his balls, then pressing a finger in. He moans while your other hand rubs the cleft of his ass, the back of his thigh where the hair is fine and soft. He's a hairy little guy, you've thought on more than one occasion, and you always thought you had to be charitable to call him cute, but right now you think he's beautiful, the way he shudders when your finger slides easily in and out of him, the second finger slipping in, spreading him, preparing him. You take your time, because you want him to enjoy this as much as you will.

Finally he pulls up, lifting himself off of your hand, and one of his snakes between you to guide your cock into him. He lowers himself slowly, lower lip caught between his teeth, eyes half-closed in a rictus of pleasure, and for a moment there you're frightened because he stops and you think he's not going to take you, but then he keeps going; and then he's all the way down, ass resting on your thighs, his tight muscle fisted around your cock. You rest a hand on his hip, the other on his dick, loosely grasping him; he gasps and then smiles at you, eyes gone black with pleasure, and begins to move.

Though you want it to last, you know it won't. Chris is so fucking tight, you know he must not bottom much, and that alone gives you thrills of delight (not to mention food for thought, for later). He jerks arrhythmically a few times before he gets used to it, the two of you settling into steady movement, your fingers curling tighter on his cock so that he hisses, then cries out when you hit his prostate. For your part, it's just hot to be inside him, buried balls-deep in his ass, watching his face and listening to the noises he makes. You don't want it to ever end.

But it does, because the pace picks up, Chris leaning over you to push his hips hard, down-and-back-and-up-again, and the sensation of him grinding on you is so intense that your head starts to spin. You close your eyes, bite your lip, fight the orgasm for as long as you can, until finally he gives a wild, incoherent gasp and comes all over you. He stops, hips pressed down against yours, and the sensation of his muscles wringing you out is too much to bear; you come, white and black shapes bursting behind your eyelids, and you're only dimly aware of his kisses on your face as you swim back into full awareness.

He lays on you for a few moments, both of you just breathing, until the room seems to stop spinning and the feel of sperm on your stomach begins to overwhelm the pleasant afterglow. You roll him to his side, and over his protests, you get up, wobbly legs carrying you to the bathroom for towels. You pause to look at yourself in the mirror for a moment, scratching a hand through curls gone wild, and then chuckle. You're glowing, and anyone with half an eye would be able to see that.

After you're cleaned up, you tug the covers over yourselves, letting Chris pull you into a weary embrace. "We cool?" he asks drowsily, and you smile, pressing a kiss to his lips. You don't think you're going to get upset if he and Joey go off and spend time together tomorrow, or if Kris is busy with JC and Lance.

"We're cool," you say, and drift into sleep.


End file.
